Shoot!
by aBlackBird
Summary: Andrea feels awful about almost killing Daryl and stops trying to learn to shoot. Daryl shares a story with her where he had a mishap with a gun and gives her some pointers..


"Jesus Christ," Daryl breathed into a pillow as Andrea sighed noisily outside the bedroom door. Again. He knew it was Andrea because the last half hour or so had been one long, insufferable stretch of time punctuated by her pacing and sighing and the occasional passerby asking, "Andrea, are you all right?"

"Andrea, are you all right?" asked a voice that sounded like Dale's.

Daryl seethed something explicit and drew the covers over his head. He was exhausted. It should have been physically impossible to be this uncomfortable in a clean bed – a luxury the apocalypse was running low on. Daryl would have just told Andrea to keep it down, but he was afraid she was working up the courage to apologize. That sounded awkward. She wasn't his favorite person today.

There were a couple light raps on the door; more a warning that someone was coming in than a request to enter. "Daryl?" It was Andrea. Apparently, her short exchange with Dale had given her the kick in the pants she needed... Fuck.

Daryl remained very still. Maybe she would think he was sleeping and just leave well enough alone.

Andrea lowered her voice to a soft whisper. "Daryl?" she repeated. Even kept at a whisper, her voice sounded strained and a little urgent. Daryl felt kind of bad just ignoring her. Getting to sleep was already proving to be one huge, problematic clusterfuck of emotions. He didn't want to risk adding guilt to that equation.

Daryl pushed the covers back only slightly. "Yeah?" he said, curt and without looking at her. Like he couldn't be bothered or just didn't want to. Either was fine. Andrea made a small, pained noise though and, before he knew it, he was carefully turning to face her. That tricky bitch.

Whatever resentment Daryl had been holding onto was disarmed for just a second or two. Andrea was looking distressingly close to tears. Her mouth was set in a frown. Her eyes were visibly wet with moisture and fixed on the bandage around Daryl's head. They were distant though, like her mind was somewhere else. Daryl had a feeling he knew where.

"Lucky for me, you can't aim for shit."

Andrea swallowed and glanced away. She took a deep breath and tried for a smile. It came out pretty forced. "Don't worry," she said "I won't be touching a gun again any time soon."

"What? Is that supposed to make me feel better?" asked Daryl, unimpressed. "Don't go making promises you can't keep."

"You think I don't mean it?" Andrea raised her hands like she was surrendering; shaken and fidgeting, clearly a bundle of raw nerves beneath her skin. Daryl was getting tired just watching her. Well. More tired. "I'd be surprised if I picked up a gun... ever again. That was- That was humiliating."

Daryl didn't know what to say to that. Luckily, his expression seemed to convey his reaction well enough.

"Oh, God... That's not..." Andrea huffed a frustrated breath and pushed a strand of hair back from her face. "If I'd killed you… I don't know what I would have done." That sounded like a small lie, like Andrea had a vague idea of what she might have done.

The implications made Daryl uncomfortable. He'd been right. It was awkward. Awkward and here he was unable to just get up and walk away. It felt like he was being held hostage for something and he wasn't sure what. The hell was wrong with these people?

"Never again." Once more, Andrea raised her hands, repeating the sentiment from earlier. "I'm just- I'm done. I swear."

"No you don't," Daryl insisted, watching Andrea's expression slip into one of mild annoyance.

"What-" Andrea began, but Daryl interrupted her.

"You're just wound up about it. I should know. That shit's happened to me more than once." Daryl cringed. "Don't... whatever. Forget it. It was an accident. Just learn how to use a gun before you shoot at someone. At least remember to confirm the target next time. Christ." Daryl pulled the covers up again, expecting to hear her leave now that she'd been absolved. She didn't.

"You've shot someone?" asked Andrea. "Someone other than a walker, I mean."

"No," said Daryl brusquely, thinking back to several pretty close calls just the same. "Can't say that I have."

"Oh," said Andrea, her voice soft again. She said nothing for a few moments then started moving back toward the door.

Dammit. Again, Daryl pushed the covers back slightly. He propped himself up. "My neighbor had this cat…"

Andrea stopped at the door and turned. She spent a few seconds staring at him before a sudden realization seemed to dawn on her. She sucked in a sharp breath of air. "You didn't."

Daryl rolled his eyes and continued. "I was a kid," he said in his defense. "Merle had just swung around with a buddy. Just stopping by to get something. The old man wasn't at home though, so they raided the fridge, drank all his beer. Before long, they'd raided our dad's gun cabinet too."

Andrea winced and made a face. "I don't like where this is going."

"They went to the front porch, still drinkin'. Shooting stuff occasionally. Some rodents, passing birds and shit. Mostly empty beer cans though." Daryl paused as the bed dipped with Andrea's weight. She had taken a seat on the edge of the bed and was watching him intently. What was this, story time? Daryl tried his best to just ignore her. "It was starting to get dark when Merle's buddy goaded me into using the shotgun. Merle warned me the recoil would damn near take my arm off, but I was trying to show off and he wasn't about the stop me. Merle was a big believer in learning by doing, even if the doing nearly got you killed."

His voice must have gotten a little nostalgic, because Andrea gave him a small, sympathetic smile. Daryl normally didn't like that sort of thing, but it wasn't so bad coming from her.

"Anyway," Daryl began again, glancing away from Andrea. "I was nervous, trying to pretend I wasn't while lining up a shot. They were watching me. It was quieter than it had been for a while, and that was the moment the neighbor's cat picked to come running out from under the house."

Andrea covered her mouth with her hands.

"Poor thing must have been scared by the noise and hiding under there and thought it could make a break for it while it was quiet. I was so startled I sort of... accidentally... I, uh... shot it."

Andrea made a shrill, muffled noise into her hands. Still tensed up, she asked, "Was it dead?"

After being hit pointblank with a shotgun? Daryl gave Andrea another disbelieving look. "It was in my hair."

Andrea made another shrill, muffled noise.

"And I'd fired it at a real piss poor angle, so the recoil knocked me off my feet. I was kinda in shock, to be honest. I couldn't believe what had happened."

Andrea made another muffled noise this time. Daryl realized she was laughing. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "You have the worst stories… I just…" She snorted with laughter again and tried to hide it with her hands. A couple of tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I can't believe you," said Daryl. "That was a mean cat, but you're still a bad person for laughing." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway. He leaned back against the pillows, letting her laugh it off.

After it had been ascertained that the red smudge in the grass was the neighbor's cat, Daryl's memory was a little fuzzy. He remembered Merle's buddy going on without him. He remembered Merle half dragging him into the bathroom. He remembered the damp, mildew smell of the reddening washcloth Merle scrubbed over his face and through his hair, making him promise up and down not to let a word of this slip to their dad.

Daryl jumped, startled by Andrea giving the bandage around his head a careful tug. "Sorry, "she said, but didn't stop. She fanned her fingers across his temple and nudged the bandage, leaned in close to get a better look. "I'm sorry," she repeated. Andrea had said several variations on "sorry" tonight, but that one stood out. 

* * *

Andrea did touch a gun again. And again. And again. After a while, she even started to think she had a knack for it. The men in camp taught her what they knew until she got the sneaking suspicion she knew more than most of them. She never said as much though, just kept practicing.

There had been an undeniable swell of pride in her chest the first time she saved Daryl's life, taking down a lunging walker with a well-place shot between the eyes. It wasn't really touched upon much after the fact; a brief nod of thanks, a smile back. Even so, Andrea found herself getting invited on hunting trips with Daryl more often than once afterward.

"I can't do it. It's looking at me."

"Explain to me how you can kill a dozen geeks without flinching, but this is what you have a problem with."

"Fine." Andrea raised Daryl's crossbow slowly, quietly lining up a shot. She felt him come up behind her, reaching to reposition her arms a little. Andrea let him. He wasn't condescending about it like some of the men at camp could be. Marksmanship seemed to be a respectable skill for anyone to learn in Daryl's book. Especially in today's world.

In the distance, the squirrel twitched its tail but remained otherwise motionless. "It's just so… cute and furry."

"God, woman. Shoot it already."

"That's fine for you to say. You obviously have no problems killing cute, furry animals."

"Shut up," said Daryl, but he was close enough that Andrea could feel an exhale of breath on her shoulder like he was laughing.

Andrea smiled. "You know yesterday, I was thinking to myself – Why haven't I seen any cats around? Ever. You see the occasional pack of dogs wandering, but-"

Daryl let go of her arms and pointed an impatient finger at the squirrel. "Just put an arrow in it."

And Andrea did.


End file.
